


Second Star to the Right

by Sun_In_Your_Eyes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Other, Post Season 8, Post-Canon Fix-It, epilogue compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sun_In_Your_Eyes/pseuds/Sun_In_Your_Eyes
Summary: Keith and Lance lose the loves of their lives, get supremely drunk at a wedding, attempt to commit grand auto theft on a shape-shifting warship then go on an epic space-road trip to find the one they lost.Because that's what you do when you're Defenders of the Universe and the universe doesn't actually need saving.





	1. Lonely Hearts Club

Hunk noticed. Lance noticed.

Pidge didn’t, but that wasn’t her fault. She’d always been closer to Shiro than the others, if only through her connection with her brother and father. And she was so young, even the universe never quite winning against her optimism.

Keith would never have made it through the wedding without the Yellow and Blue Paladins – no, his _friends_. Hunk ran interference, diverting anyone who wanted to _small talk, such a brave man you are, and such a wonderful person as you are can surely help me with this little problem_, while Lance defined ‘misery loves company’. “To the Lonely Hearts Club,” he toasted, and drained the glass of champagne. Well. It was sort of champagne. It had bubbles and tickled the throat. It was also opaque, white and let of little electric sparks now and then.

Keith followed his lead, the alien champagne humming pleasantly down his throat. “No, really,” Lance lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, man. I know how you and Shiro were…well, you know, sort of…I know you…”

Lance didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. It wasn’t like Keith had been any good at hiding it. Keith squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he croaked. “And – Allura. I don’t think I ever told you how sorry…”

“Not your fault,” Lance said, firmly. “She was the only one who could – and there was no stopping her when she decided to do something.” It came out impossibly fond, if sad. “Besides…I can still feel her, sometimes.” One finger traced the mark under his eye. “Like… you remember Bob?”

“Unfortunately,” Keith muttered.

Lance snorted, just a little. “Yeah, well, Allura’s like him, now. Kinda.”

“What, an interdimensional gameshow host?”

Keith entirely expected the punch to the arm that followed, and for a moment they could have been back on the Castle of Lions, bickering about some stupid little detail neither would remember doboshes later. “No, asshole,” Lance said, but affectionately. “Just…she ascended? It’s hard to describe.”

“No,” Keith said, watching Shiro smile as he and Curtis spun around the dancefloor. Shiro was a much better dancer than Curtis, but they were both laughing. Shiro was radiant, and Keith wasn’t a part of that. “I think I get it.”

“Yeah,” Lance sat back, also watching the happy grooms dance, almost wistfully. In another universe, that could have been him and Allura, and the thought sent another pang through Keith’s already aching chest. Was there a reality when it could have been Shiro and Keith? Or was it just a universal constant that Keith loved Shiro, and Shiro just…didn’t?

“…He’s alive and healthy and happy,” Keith said, voice small. “I couldn’t ask for more. I’m lucky.” And if it felt like Shiro had shoved his Galra hand through his chest and was prying his ribs apart one by one…if that was the price of Shiro’s wellbeing, he’d pay it gladly.

“Still sucks though,” Lance said, and the frankness of the statement made Keith snort. Lance aimed a bright grin at him. “To the ones that got away – to retirements homes or inter-reality TV.”

For the first time that day Keith’s smile came easy, his turn to shove at a cackling Lance. There wasn’t anything left in his champagne glass anyway, his human-galra hybrid liver somehow managing to process alcohol faster than either species. The Blades had been completely baffled and kept challenging him to drinking contests. Keith had yet to lose.

He’d never had a drinking contest with Shiro. At first Keith had been too young, then they’d been trying to win an impossible war and afterwards they had barely been speaking.

And that hurt.

The smile on his face crumpled.

“You know what we should do?” Lance declared, interrupting Keith’s self-pity. His mother was right, he shouldn’t have come.

Keith dragged his eyes away from a giggling Shiro, who had Keith’s heart doing improbably acrobatics in his chest, if his heart was made of razorblades and thorny vines. “What?”

“_Shots_.”

·

·

·

In hindsight, drinking the alien booze that was not only a disturbing shade of neon but was also possibly _radioactive_ was not one of Lance’s better ideas.

But he just wanted to put an expression on Keith’s face that didn’t look like someone had killed his dog, and not in the vengeful John Wick way. Keith had held up impressively through the ceremony, delivered a heartfelt best man’s speech that had half the reception on the verge of tears and the rest reaching for tissues, endured a hug from Shiro that had _Lance’s _spine aching in sympathy then spent the rest of the evening oozing angst and trying valiantly to disappear in the middle of the room.

Lance remembered when Allura had almost-sort-of been with Lotor and how awful it had felt, and their relationship had never been as dramatic as Keith-and-Shiro’s. It wasn’t that Lance had anything against Curtis, whose one redeeming (and damning) quality was that his personality was inoffensive on every level – but who even was he?

For a very brief moment, he’d tried to imagine watching Allura _marry_ Lotor, but had stopped as even thinking about it had made him want to simultaneously vomit, kill himself and stab everyone in the vicinity.

After that, the green-purple alcohol won.

But when he came to, head pounding and room spinning…no, not spinning, just generally vibrating, and oh shit, that wasn’t the hangover, the floor really was physically humming…

“…_your final warning. Surrender the Atlas or we will open fire. Do you copy?”_

Several feet away, Keith was pushing himself off the ground, leaning against the control centre bewilderedly. Lance scrambled to his feet, lunging towards the nearest speaker, “Yes,” he squeaked which he would forever deny, “yes, we copy! And surrender! Right now. As in literally. Right. Now.”

What the _hell_ had been in that space vodka?

A cough dragged his attention away from the dozens of ships converging on him. “…Lance?” Keith said, slumped on the floor. “Lance. Did you hear her?”

“Hear who?” Lance said, falling flat on his ass, and there would be bruises, on one of his best assets.

“_Allura_.”

Lance’s brain screeched, slammed into a wall and then burst into flames.

The thing was, Lance heard her all the time.

When he heard from the Paladins, she chirped up with questions on how they were. On the farm, she asked questions to what he was doing, how he was doing. With Kaltenecker, she quickly made an excuse then vanished. When Coran came to visit, her voice cracked and she stuttered out how worried she was.

Sometimes, he thought the marks she’d left on his cheeks were warm.

_Yes. _Lance thought, and at the same time, _no._

“Lance,” Keith breathed, oblivious to his internal dialogue. “_Lance_. I think – I think I heard Allura. I think we can find her. We can _bring her back_.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just still drunk?” Lance asked.

Keith’s glare was withering but undermined by his squint. “No. I wouldn’t joke about this,” he said, eyes unfocused. Lance didn’t remember much after he’d rescued a bottle of alien booze from someone with way too many fingers, but he knew Keith had drunk at least twice as much neon liquid (that, oddly, tasted like the bastard child of a cucumber and a walnut) as he had. “…No? I don’t…” he shook his head, dishevelled braid slapping his cheek. “No. It felt – it was definitely Allura. And…Blue?” Keith’s squint was demoted to fully closed eyes. “The Blue Lion. Like when I was in the desert. And Allura was saying…”

Lance’s heart had already been racing. Dimly, he was aware of the space shuttles converging on the windows, but he couldn’t think about that. _Allura_. It was the best and worst feeling in the universe, and he was barely brave enough to hope, but…Keith wouldn’t lie about that. Wouldn’t even crack a joke.

Of course, Keith had never drunk ten shots of liquor from a planet Lance couldn’t pronounce within ten seconds before, and if he had _why wasn’t Lance invited_. But still. The seed of hope had been planted.

“What was she saying?” Lance managed, feeling ill in a way that had nothing to do with the way the room was tilting.

“…She was calling your name,” Keith said. “And when I answered, she shouted to me. But…not in words. Like when we formed Voltron. In feelings. When she was calling to you, it was…resignation. To me it was hope, and…longing.” Keith’s head lifted, and Lance wasn’t even a little bit ashamed to admit that there were tears burning tracks down his cheeks. “She’s _out _there, somewhere. We just have to find her.

“…Lance?

_"Lance."_

Lance had sunk to his knees, clinging to the console. The Atlas was politely informing them of the arrivals on Lower Bays Five, Six and Nine, but he barely heard. It was the hangover, he swore. That was the only reason he was flatout sobbing.

Keith dragged himself across the floor towards him, then clumsily patted Lance’s head. “Lance, _we will get her back,” _Keith promised. “We’ll bring her home.”

And fuck it, but Lance believed him.

Then, of course, the Terran military broke into the bridge, guns up, yelling orders, binding their arms and dragging them off to god knows where.

Absolutely no one was impressed when the movement made Lance vomit.


	2. In which Keith acts on instinct, Lance has no idea what anyone is thinking and Shiro just wants everyone to be happy

What happened during and after the wedding was entirely on Keith. He’d admit that freely. The liquor looked radioactive and definitely not safe for human consumption, and Keith was entirely to blame for not caring. It left behind a – well, not _pleasant_ but at least preferable detachedness; he was still miserable when looking at Shiro, but it was dulled, distant. 

So when three shots in and Lance had started swearing and rudely commenting on anyone he looked at, Keith guided him away but took the bottle with him. It took a while for Lance to run out of insults for Keith, but he’d had a lot of practice ignoring Lance. Then he started to sing. 

In his defence, Lance actually had a reasonably strong tenor. But then he started on the song by the Beatles, and dissolved into tears. Keith was not equipped for tears, and swallowed a large mouthful of alien-booze before sitting down next to Lance, letting him lean against him. 

“I miss her,” Lance said, voice cracking. “All the time. Every tick, dobosh, quintant, _I miss her_. And it never gets better.”

Keith wanted to say something comforting, but his world had lit up in colours he couldn’t identify, Lance’s voice a distant echo, and honestly, comfort wasn’t one of Keith’s strength anyway. The soft sniffling of an eight-year-old girl from one of the homes had nothing on a full grown man bawling against his shoulder. 

Why was he still here? He could have called for the wolf to rescue him. And instead he was sitting outside the worst wedding he’d ever heard of and letting an overgrown Cuban toddler get snot all over the ridiculous jacket that he would never wear again. 

The voice that answered was gentle, feminine. Lance, _Lance_,” it cried, fading in and out like a badly tuned radio, “I’m here. I’m here—“ _crackle_ “—with you. I—” _crackle _“—miss you so much. I’m _so sorry _Lance, Lance, _please—_” 

“Allura?” Keith was insane. Keith was drunk. Keith was…he was… 

“Keith? Keith!” There was a hitch of breath, a broken sound over white noise before her voice became coherent. “—n you hear me?” 

“Yeah,” Keith said, the world lighting up, bioluminescent jewels glittering from every object, every exhale, every thought. “Yeah, I hear you.” 

“_Keith!_” Was that Allura? It was an iridescent cluster of lights, but it…it _felt _like her. Keith stood, Lance clinging to him like an octopus amputee, and stumbled towards it. The trace against his cheek cried _relief, hope, joy! _“I’m here, Keith,” Allura said. “Honerva and I – we finished. I’ve tried to come back, I _want _to come back, but you’re so far away…not, not _physically_, but with the realities divided… The marks I gave Lance, they’re an anchor, but I can’t, I’m not _strong _enough, I keep being pulled back, like…” 

“Like trying to escape gravity,” Keith said softly. He had one arm tucked under Lance’s ass, supporting him. 

No one could know. Ever. 

“That’s exactly right. Keith, the lions…they came, but th…terdimensional travel…gateway…the others…tell…” Allura’s voice was cutting out. Keith stumbled, tripped, barely managed to twist so he was the only one who hit the wall, Lance escaping unharmed. 

“Allura? Allura!”

Fainter and fainter. Why had he been able to hear her? Why couldn’t he hear her anymore?

Lance burped against his shoulder, squeezed then snuggled closer. Keith seriously considered dropping him. Then he remembered the bottle of whatever they’d been drinking in his other hand.

Could it really be that simple? Could it actually be that stupid? Seriously?

Well. Keith wasn’t known for making Good Life Choices. Like attending the wedding of the love of his life when he wasn’t the one getting married.

Keith brought the bottle to his lips and chugged.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t remember much after that.

· 

·

·

After Sendak’s invasion, the Galaxy Garrison had changed. 

It had no choice if it wanted to survive. While technically a military institution there had not been any serious global conflict in over a decade, and had become more focused on pressing humanity’s limitations, achieving the impossible just to prove it wasn’t impossible. And that was the thing of science-fiction: space-travel, exploring as the sailors of old had done. 

Sendak changed everything. Actually, it had changed long before Sendak – even before the Kerboros mission – when the first traces of alien radio chatter had been picked up by the Garrison’s satellites. Not even their best linguists could make much sense of it, but they knew enough to know They Were Not Alone, and that their neighbours were far, far ahead of human technology. 

Takashi Shirogane’s crash landing was unprecedented. Samuel Holt’s return sent anyone with the proper clearance into a panic. 

And when Voltron arrived – well, everyone was too jaded to think anything other than _what is it this time._

All three were useful, in their own way. Shirogane’s arrival confirmed their suspicions of a hostile alien presence within the galaxy. Without Samuel Holt’s warning and knowledge of alien technology, Planet Earth and its inhabitants, its culture, would have been utterly destroyed. Even so, only a third of their population had survived. And Voltron— 

Voltron saved them. Voltron _freed _them. From the machines designed to destroy the planet, from alien mecha-robots that were about to explode and destroy half the planet, they fought, and then they fell.

But the Garrison persevered. 

The Galaxy Garrison had metamorphized. First to the biggest stronghold remaining on the planet, then to the hub of the Voltron Coalition, then to a major spaceport, the militant and political center of the planet. The Capital of Planet Sol 3. And they were damn proud of what they’d become. 

The cells Keith and Lance were dumped into were appropriately high tech – electric barriers rather than bars, the bindings simultaneously cohesive and comfortable. In fact, Lance was reasonably sure Pidge had designed them. He hoped he was mistaken, though, because if she had then their slim chances of escape were pretty much null and void. 

He had a good time chatting with the guard, though, once the ache in his head had faded. 

It was interesting that there was only the one guard. Lance would have been insulted, but he knew just how much Pidge had revolutionised the Garrison’s security, most of it digitalised and electronic. And Lance knew very well that underestimating Pidge almost always ended very, very badly. 

Keith was curled up in a corner, making soft, hurt sounds, and Lance wasn’t sure he wasn’t crying. It was incredibly disturbing. He’d thought Keith-at-the-wedding was bad, but this was a Keith with his defences down and unaware of an audience, and it transcended pitiful and made tragic look censored. Lance wanted to comfort him, but he also wanted to stay as far away as possible. Besides. He doubted a pat on the shoulder or even a lot of questionable alien vodka was going to help that. 

So Keith was out of commission. That just meant it was up to Lancey-Lance to talk them out of this situation. 

“Can we get some room service here?” he called. The guard was young, impressionable and Lance had a _rapport _with him. It was their best bet. 

Of course, the person who entered wasn’t some pimply teen and instead the reason Keith was a black hole of misery. And he was wearing his ‘Disappointed Dad’ face. 

Lance fixed on a smile.

·

·

·

This wasn’t Shiro’s problem. Shiro had better things to do – like _attend his honeymoon _– and yet he found himself back at the Garrison, wearing the uniform he hadn’t touched in phoebs, marching down to interrogate the last two people he’d ever expect to land on the wrong side of the Garrison.

Well. Maybe Keith wasn’t much of a surprise. Keith had only ever humoured the law, too clever and too moral to be a pawn. That was what made him such a good leader. When he wasn’t grieving, at the top of his game, he could see the big picture, was _good_ in a way Shiro couldn’t qualify, had such a capacity for forgiveness. He was a Defender, in all definitions of the word. Defending the universe from an evil dictator. Defending his team from petty things like who flew each lion and who had to step aside. Defending a defeated enemy from themselves. 

The steps into the Garrison were exhausting, and every time he had to say ‘at ease’ made him feel like an imposter. Whatever they thought they knew was a fairy tale, propaganda from a world he had failed. He avoided politics like – that he was the only possible pilot for the Atlas was an intergalactic squabble that had only ceased when he had permanently retired. 

Stuttering, the guard asked him for his autograph. Shiro put on a smile and obliged. “I’ll take it from here,” he said, and even though he had zero authority the man just saluted and told him “Yessir”. 

Shiro just shook his head before hitting the button to open the door. 

Lance grinned, greeting him with a spastically waving hand. Keith, however, was curled up in a ball in the corner. Shiro spared him a concerned glance – he’d never seen Keith drunk or hungover before, but he knew he didn’t like it – but focussed on the conscious idiot. “I hope you realise that I should be halfway to Jamaica by now,” he said. 

“Jamaica,” Lance nodded. “Classic beach vacation. Classy.” 

It wasn’t the first time Shiro had had the urge to strangle Lance, and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. “No, Lance. I just want to understand.” 

“I can explain,” Lance said. Paused. Looked at the corner. “Well. Keith can explain.” 

“Keith,” Shiro said flatly. 

As if on cue, Keith lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed with red; it was obvious that he’d been crying, which lit an irrational rage that Shiro barely managed to restrain. “Shiro,” he croaked. 

Shiro tried very, _very _hard to not think about other circumstances when Keith would call his name like that. Like if he was on his knees, pink mouth puffy and glistening with— 

“Lance,” said Lance. “And now we all know each other’s names. Yay. So, Keith, we were just talking about how we got here.” 

Keith stared, but listed to the side, head meeting the metal wall with a quiet _thunk_. “Explain?” Keith frowned. Shiro suddenly, helplessly missed that scowl. Which was inappropriate at best and creepy at worst. He was a married man. The fantasies about the boy he’d once mentored were wrong, and best forgotten. 

“You know,” Lance said, smile bright and perfect. “How we ended up here.” 

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, how you got me drunk and I was still the one taking care of you?” 

“Hey, _you _brought up Allura.” 

“Shut up. This is your fault anyway.” 

“What? How is this _my _fault?” 

“The SHOTS, idiot! And then you surrendered!” 

“Because they were going to _shoot at us_, did you forget?! And do you remember how we got onto the Atlas anyway, because _I _don’t, which means you were the Sober Person In Charge and everything that followed was on you!” 

Keith huffed and disappeared. 

No. _Literally_ disappeared, in a blink-and-you-miss-it puff of blue static. Both Shiro and Lance stared. “…So,” Lance said. “Keith has a get-out-of-jail-free card?” 

Shiro wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or to bang his head against the nearest wall. 

Lance’s expression shifted. Shiro’s attention abandoned the image of Keith with his braid dishevelled and refocused – Lance might put on the façade of a carefree regular passer-by, but when he got serious, it meant _shit got real _and Lance went from affable to nuclear. “It’s about Allura.” 

It felt like a punch to his gut, air forced out of his lungs. Shiro tried to breathe, failed, then, “About Allura?” 

Lance’s eyes were steady and very blue. “Yeah. Keith thinks she’s alive, and that she needs our help, and that we can get her back.” 

The world was wrong. It was like it had shifted several inches to the right – so close, but Shiro still kept knocking his shins against the coffee table. “And you,” Shiro said helplessly, “What do you…Keith was _drunk_.” 

“I know,” Lance said, “and I don’t know. I don’t know anything. But if there’s any chance, if it’s one in a million or one in ten billion trillion, I’m going to take it. But if Keith’s right – and he usually is, the asshole – then Allura needs us _now_. Tell me your marital bliss is more important than Allura’s life. Go ahead. _Make my day._” 

Shiro strongly suspected that Lance had been waiting for an excuse to use that saying for a long time but didn’t call him out on it. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway. 

Curtis would not be happy. But Shiro trusted Keith, and he trusted Lance. 

The wolf-who-was-definitely-not-named-Kosmo promptly teleported back in, then nicked Lance from his cell, restraints clattering to the floor uselessly. Even Pidge hadn’t prepared for a teleporting space wolf. 

Shiro took a deep breath, then turned towards the Admiral’s office. They might object, but no one could really tell him not to fly the Atlas. 

Curtis was going to kill him. Well, no, he wasn’t. He didn’t feel strongly enough about Shiro to entertain homicidal thoughts. He’d just be mildly disappointed. 

This was what Shiro had wanted. Something easy. Something that didn’t have the universe at stake. 

This was what he wanted. 

Shiro took a deep breath, twisted the ring around his finger, and turned away.


	3. Shades of Not Okay

·

·

·

Being woken up by the space wolf licking his face was not the best way to start the day. But it _was_ effective, and it happened far too often for Keith to get worked up about it.

The lighting on the Atlas was much brighter than that of the Garrison’s cells, which wasn’t good for the ache in his head. Keith’s mouth was also worryingly dry, but it was less important than figuring out how he’d got here. Last he’d checked, he and Lance had been in a Garrison Prison. Keith wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten back to the Atlas, but judging by the wolf’s tail thumping the floor, exuding _proud-did-good-belly-rub-now_, he could make an educated guess.

“Keith.”

Keith turned his head, seeing Lance sitting cross-legged on the floor, somehow smaller than usual. “Keith,” he repeated. “About Allura. Are you sure?”

Why would he have said anything if he wasn’t? Keith pushed himself up then froze. Lance’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. Yeah, _nope_, he wasn’t doing this again.

“I definitely heard Allura,” he said, “and I_ know _we can bring her home. But we have stay calm, and focused, and _think_. We _don’t_ have time to feel sorry for ourselves. Allura is our priority.” _So pull yourself together_, Keith didn’t say.

Lance shuddered, bending so his forehead touched his toes. “I know. I know.” Then he sat up, face sharp in the way Red Paladin Lance looked at his best. It was a look Keith hadn’t seen since Allura had died. “Now. Tell me _everything._”

·

·

·

Hunk liked to think he was a nice guy. He thought so, anyway. He was on good terms with his employees, kept in contact with his friends, doted on his family and generally tried to be generous at every opportunity.

Curtis was also a nice guy. A good man without being condescending. Intelligent, but in an understated way. Funny, but not in a mean way. Good looking but not striking. He was a really hard guy to dislike.

Hunk hated him.

There was nothing rational about it, just a gut jerk reaction, but Hunk still wanted to push him off a cliff. He never said anything about it, buried the impulse and made Shiro’s wedding the best catered event of the decaphoeb, but the urge to smother the man in his sleep never fully left.

Seeing Keith’s expression at the wedding multiplied the feeling. It wasn’t resentment, or jealousy, or even dislike. It was the same expression Lance wore when he thought no one was watching. Keith was one of the most decent people Hunk had ever met, once you looked past his temper. He deserved better.

Keith wasn’t hard to dislike. He often misunderstood others and when he became defensive, people assumed he was hostile. He was smart, but people liked to forget about that unless it was about to get them killed. He wasn’t ugly – athletic even before the Paladin lifestyle, sharp cheekbones, floppy hair (despite being a mullet, thank-you Lance) that framed his face, big eyes that couldn’t decide if they were grey or blue or purple, which – before his weird galra growth spurt – left him androgynous at best, and kids were cruel about things like that. He was awkward by human standards, jokes frequently going right over his head – although also oddly popular in the extra-terrestrial communities. And even if you ignored all his inability to fit in, he had this insane gift for flying which had people like James Griffin (and Lance, though Hunk would never say so to his face) foaming at the mouth with envy.

In conclusion, he was strange, kind of pretty and infuriatingly talented at flying any known vehicle.

What wasn’t immediately obvious was that he was _kind_. Bafflingly so. The kind that almost threw himself off a cliff into a pool of lava to rescue someone who’d held a gun to his head seconds before. Hunk really did think of himself as a nice guy, but there was nice and there was _Keith_. Though, Zethrid _had_ ended up as a part of a humanitarian – alienatarian, since wasn’t actually for humans? Xenotarian? Hunk would have to ask Keith – group, so…maybe he had a point?

Keith was _good_ and Hunk would follow him to the end of the universe, but until Keith trusted you enough to break through his defences, his personality could be summarised as _asshole_.

Hunk kept himself busy. Seeing people enjoying his food still left him satisfied, and experimenting with ingredients from different planets was a good distraction. Allura’s sacrifice had broken something in all of them, but the cracks between Keith and Shiro had started before that.

After taking the time off for Shiro’s wedding, misguided as it might be, Hunk had a lot of catching up to do. For the most part he’d trained his minions (staff!) to handle it, but there were several wedding cakes from distant galaxies that needed his attention. Somehow, Earth’s tradition of having multi-tiered cakes at a wedding had become an intergalactic phenomenon, and Hunk tried to see to them personally whenever he could. So he first heard of The Atlas Incident when elbow deep in frosting.

“_Hey, Hunk,”_ Shiro said. “_I know you’re busy, but we have a… a situation._” Shiro paused. His shoulders made an aborted motion, before settling in what Hunk and Pidge called his Captain Shirogane mode. Neither of them liked it. _“Lance thinks its about Allura. I don’t know how reliable this is, both Keith and Lance were hungover at the time, but.” _There were several seconds of silence. Hunk used them to wipe away the tears. “_They were sure. They think…_” For the first time in recent memory, Shiro’s expression cracked, if only for a split second before it returned to neutral. “_They think we can get Allura back.”_

The delicate layer of sponge cake went _squish_.

·

·

·

Katie Holt had been awake for over sixty-three hours after she’d woken up screaming.

This time it was Matt who had hit the doorframe in his haste, stumbling to her bed and curling up next to her. “Katie,” he said while she sobbed against his shoulder. “I’m here. We’re home. We’re safe, all of us. You’re going to be okay.”

“I dreamt you died,” she hiccupped. “I dreamt everyone died because I wasn’t good enough. Because I couldn’t save us.”

Matt hushed her and held a little tighter. “But you did save them,” he murmured. “You were clever and brave and you saved everyone.”

“But not Allura,” she croaked. Matt didn’t have an answer for that, just pressed a kiss against her hair.

There had been a lot of nights like that – when she cried herself awake and her family had to coax her back to sleep, or, failing that, staying up with her until she was suitably distracted. There had also been a lot of nights when sleep had been a fictional construct. She’d been awake for only forty-two hours before Shiro’s wedding, which was actually a mild success. Sleep was elusive and spiteful, and Pidge only tolerated it because she had to.

For the record, Pidge wasn’t actually socially inept. Well, maybe when she’d had zero hours sleep. She might avoid social engagements like it was an Olympic sport, but she wasn’t clueless. It was just a waste of time that could be better spent revolutionising the technological universe. Shiro and Keith could figure out their own relationship bullshit. She’d just be sitting back with the popcorn.

So when she was the last to know about Lance-and-Keith’s Allura revelation-slash-psychotic-break, she was extremely tempted to sabotage all their electronics. She could do that in her sleep. It would serve them right, and she only restrained because she suspected she’d be using their tech in the near future. Her viruses were brutal. Fighting her own software might be an interesting exercise, academically, but this was about _Allura_. Maybe. If Keith and Lance weren’t as dumb as they looked.

It was a pretty hard ‘_If_’.

Hunk met her on the Atlas, his own private ship – nostalgically painted yellow – parked beside hers. There was a smudge of some white powder on his forehead. “So,” Pidge said, because she hadn’t slept in sixty-three hours and Hunk wouldn’t care if she skipped etiquette as long as it had nothing to do with food. “What do you think the chances are that this is just Keith being drunk and Lance being desperate enough to believe it?”

Hunk grimaced. “I don’t even know how Lance managed to get Keith drunk in the first place. And then they transformed the Atlas? I thought only Shiro could do that. But Shiro believed them enough to postpone his honeymoon.”

“Where is Shiro?” Pidge asked instead of saying hello.

“Talking to the brass,” Hunk said. “He says it’s taking him a while to get permission to reactivate the Atlas.” Pidge doubted that it was only a matter of time or that permission would matter. Hunk made a face and shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen either. But Shiro’s a big deal, even now he’s retired. Maybe he can pull it off.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Pidge echoed, sipping at her triple shot expresso mocha with caramel syrup before marching forwards determinedly, Hunk on her heels. “We’re not waiting for him.”

Retirement, Pidge could forgive. Shiro had earned that much. But pushing the rest of them – including _Keith_ – away, treating them as subordinates instead of his team and his _friends _– yeah, Pidge wasn’t spiteful enough to ruin his wedding, but he’d once said that to be part of a team, you had to want to be part of a team.

And from his actions, Shiro wanted nothing less.

·

·

·

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry if I end up ghosting anyone. I have major social anxiety that extends to social media. It doesn't mean I don't read every comment a hundred times. 
> 
> Also, it's been a long time since I've written anything, and I am sorely out of practice of planning a coherent plot, so there may be major alterations to earlier chapters. I'll try to let you know if this happens.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented or hit kudos! It really makes my day.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time in years that I've dared to post anything for any fandom. I'm still not sure where I'm going with this, still don't believe this is anything, but I hope that I'll get enough feedback and comments to make this anything more than a draft. 
> 
> Please comment, if only to give an emoji.
> 
> **A/N 01/08/2019: Re-wrote most of Lance's section, both because I wasn't happy with it the first time and because, fleshing out my story, it didn't work. **
> 
> Sunny out.


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